The Kings and the Erotic Portrait
by lizajay12
Summary: Those portraits of the two kings are still causing trouble – especially the one of Thorin. And he can be such a prude about these things. First of all, Thorin has to deal with the consequences of an explosion of rude pictures and then Thranduil has to deal with his lover's amnesia. Leave him alone, Thranduil: Thorin has got so much to forget, LOL! A standalone in a series.
**Those portraits that Sebastian painted of the two kings are still causing trouble – especially the one of Thorin. And he can be such a prude about these things. First of all, Thorin has to deal with the consequences of an explosion of rude pictures and then Thranduil has to deal with his lover's amnesia. Leave him alone, Thranduil: Thorin has got so much to forget, LOL! A standalone, but one of my Thorinduil series.**

.o00o.

The Kings and the Erotic Portrait

Pt I

It all started with a bad-tempered spat in Mirkwood: Thranduil wanted to go out hunting but Thorin wanted the two of them to stay in bed all day since he was leaving for Erebor on the following morning.

"But, I haven't been hunting in ages," whinged Thranduil.

"And I was looking forward to a jolly good fuck to set me up for our two weeks apart," snarled Thorin grumpily.

"Well, if you hadn't been so coarse," complained the elf in his snottiest manner, "and had invited me graciously to indulge in a bit of 'love-making', I might have considered it. But, as it is….."

And he had flung his cloak gracefully around his shoulders and had marched from the room.

An indignant Thorin felt like packing his bags and leaving that very minute, but he also felt hungry and so he went down to the elven dining-hall to have breakfast. As he stomped his way through the corridors, he noticed once more what he had been noticing for the past two weeks in Mirkwood: he was being stared at. It wasn't always a full-on look: more often it was just a sliding of the eyes sideways as he walked past, but they were definitely staring.

Thorin was puzzled but he also felt disappointed. When he had first become Thranduil's partner, their relationship had been met with a lot of disapproval, especially in Mirkwood; and there had been plenty of staring then. But, he had worked very hard on gaining the elves' favour. First, they had discovered his beautiful singing voice and his superb technique on the harp: there was an artistic connection established and they would ask him again and again to perform for them. And, of course, after the battle of the five armies, they had realised what a magnificent warrior he was but their admiration had increased when he began to take part in bouts with them outside in the practise yards and they found it almost impossible to defeat him. And, importantly, it slowly became obvious that the two kings really loved each other - and wasn't that a romantic moment when he had camped out on the elven king's doorstep for a whole month after they had had an argument and the dwarf had written _poetry_ to him, of all things, in an attempt to win his heart once more!? How the elf lords had nodded in approval and how the ladies had sighed over him. And they were also beginning to realise how good-looking he was – in a dwarven way, of course – but that didn't mean that they weren't attracted to him. And, once he learned how to do the sensuous elven dances, there was always a bit of a scuffle from both the lords and the ladies to be first in line to partner him.

It had been an easy ride downhill for a long time now and Thorin felt he could relax. No-one stared any more and the only glances were friendly ones as passers-by smiled or nodded in greeting….until these past two weeks. Had he done something wrong? Was there a hole in his breeches? When he saw that Legolas was sitting on his own in a corner of the dining-hall, Thorin decided it was time to find out.

They greeted each other warmly – they got on pretty well these days. Thorin plonked his plate of food on the table and sat himself down, ready for a confrontation.

"All right, lad," he muttered (never mind that he was at least a thousand years younger than the elf), "what's going on? Why are they all staring at me?"

Legolas leaned back in his chair and a slow grin spread across his face. "I wondered when you would notice," he said. "Now, when did you last see Sebastian, the court artist?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" the dwarf growled.

"Everything," laughed Legolas. "You see, he's made his fortune and has returned to Minas Tirith."

"Didn't realise that painting paid so well," responded Thorin.

"Well, it doesn't usually, but the ball began to roll when you disappeared, no-one knew where, and my father shot off in search of you, some months ago now. You know that we thought you might never come back, don't you? Your friends in Erebor were very distressed and so, as a kindly gesture, we got Sebastian to do a copy of that painting of you that we found hanging in my father's rooms."

"That was private," snapped the dwarven king. "And now they've got it hanging in the dining hall in Erebor for all to see."

"Well, it's not exactly rude, is it?" grinned the prince. "All your bits are covered by that silk dressing gown."

"Just about covered," grumbled Thorin, "by a very _short_ dressing-gown. It's the teasing nature of the 'just about' that makes it so erotic. That, plus the look on my face which was meant solely for your father."

"Sorry," said Legolas (and he didn't look sorry at all). "But we meant well. Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of it. Many of the elves who had seen the portrait before it was sent off to Erebor were rather taken with it and asked Sebastian to make them small copies, you know, small enough to prop up in a frame by the side of their beds. You've become quite a star." And he couldn't contain himself any longer but burst out into raucous laughter.

Thorin turned a bright red. "By the side of their beds?!" he exclaimed. "You mean….?"

"Yes," gurgled Legolas in glee. "You've become a pin-up, an object of desire. I dread to think what they do on their own with you – at night. I can't imagine!"

Thorin absolutely didn't want to imagine either.

"And that's how Sebastian made his fortune. He took the money and ran! That was just before the time when you turned up for your stint here two weeks ago. I don't think he wanted to bump into you." And he dissolved into gales of laughter again.

"And so," said Thorin slowly, "they're staring at me because….because….."

"Because they're imagining you with your clothes off," spluttered the elf. "It's quite a turn-on."

Thorin was furious and embarrassed all at the same time. "Tell your father I've left early," he snapped. "I can't bear to stay here one moment longer." And he jumped to his feet and marched indignantly out of the room, totally ignoring the lascivious glances that followed him.

.o00o.

Pt II

Thorin was really angry all the way back to Erebor. By the time he reached the dwarven stronghold, he was keen to unload himself on someone and he made his way up to Dwalin's apartment.

"…And that's when he told me that loads of elves had a small copy propped up next to their beds," he was telling his close friend in disgusted tones as they shared a glass of wine. And that was also when he noticed Dwalin glance shiftily towards his own bedroom door.

Thorin stopped suspiciously mid-story, jumped to his feet and, before his friend could prevent him, he flung open the door of the bedroom and peered inside. "Not you too!" he exclaimed, turning back into the room. His voice sounded like that of a father who was very disappointed in a child.

"It was only a bit of fun," muttered Dwalin, blushing.

"But, doesn't Bris object?" asked the dwarven king in exasperation.

"Umm, no, actually," was the uncomfortable response. "It sometimes gets me going when I'm not in the mood. She appreciates it."

Thorin clapped a hand over his eyes. Whom did you trust when you couldn't even trust a friend!?

"Well, at least I didn't buy the other one," said Dwalin, on the defensive.

Thorin peered through a crack in his fingers: "What….other…one?" he asked slowly, with just the hint of a threat in his voice.

Dwalin realised that he had made a mistake but there was no going back. It looked as though Thorin wasn't going to be best pleased when he went down to the dining-hall and saw his newly 'improved' portrait, anyway.

"Err, the one where you haven't got any clothes on. Sebastian offered an alternative, more expensive design." And when Thorin looked ready to kill someone, he held up his hands soothingly. "It's very beautiful," he protested. "Very tasteful! Sebastian visited Erebor on his way home to Minas Tirith just after you left here for Mirkwood two weeks ago. He kept himself busy with all those copies of your portrait and - umm – made a few minor changes to the large one hanging in the dining-hall."

"Minor…..Changes?...Do I really want to know?"

"Perhaps not," said Dwalin miserably. "But we've grown very attached to that portrait, you know. Wouldn't be without it now," said the dwarf, trying to put an upbeat slant on the matter.

"I'm going down to the dining-hall," the king growled as he slammed out of the room. And Dwalin ran anxiously after him.

.o00o.

Thorin stood stock still in front of the painting. "I don't believe this," he gasped.

But, believe it or not, there it was in all its glory.

The identical copy of the original had shown the dwarven king lounging at full length on a couch, one arm draped over the end rest and the other lying carelessly upon a raised knee. But, he had been wearing a dressing-gown – some cover at least, however short it was, and even though it had been falling open down the front.

But this! This! Sebastian, in a moment of amused devilment – or perhaps because he saw an opportunity to make even more money - had painted out the clothing and painted in Thorin's completely naked body.

"Well," Dwalin muttered in his ear, "I think you look beautiful."

There he was, lying in the all-together, showing his hairy, muscular chest, his tight belly, his strong legs and his powerful arms, ringed with tattoos. But! His fully exposed genitals were also on display, his impressive cock lolling across his lower leg looking very squeezable and suckable, Dwalin thought. So real, that you could almost reach out and touch it.

"That's the version," offered Dwalin, "that some people paid extra for. Although," he added helpfully, thinking it was best to come completely clean, "a handful of people paid a lot more for a Sebastian Special."

"A Sebastian Special?" asked Thorin with a killer look in his eyes.

"Umm, yes. One where you have an erection. A big one."

If Sebastian had been standing there, Thorin would have strangled him with his bare hands.

"Get the guards!" snarled the dwarven king. "They can take that picture off the wall!"

"Can't do that, Thorin," said Dwalin (a bit smugly, Thorin thought). "You'll need to get the council's permission before you take it down. We had to get their permission before we put it up, you know. Next meeting's not for a week and I think a lot of people will vote to leave it up there. It's very popular, you know."

"I bet it is," muttered Thorin darkly, before storming off to his room.

Dwalin sighed. He really wished that he had ordered a Sebastian Special before the artist had disappeared off home.

Back in his apartment, Thorin threw himself down angrily on his bed. He stared with irritation at the portrait of Thranduil hanging on his wall: why hadn't everyone wanted a copy of the painting of the elven king? Why did it always involve him? He dozed off for a bit and, when he awoke again, it was past midnight. Well, he wasn't prepared to wait another week for the council to convene, only to find that they turned down his demand for his portrait's removal. He was going to do something about it and he was going to do it now!

.o00o.

Pt III

Thorin snuck quietly down the corridors with a pair of step-ladders under his arm. The guard near the dining-hall was dozing against the wall and the dwarf managed to slip past him unnoticed. Thorin knew, after dragging that portrait of Thranduil back from Mirkwood, that this one would be heavy, but he reckoned that he was strong enough to manage it on his own. He would remove it and destroy it. And, then, tomorrow, he would put on an innocent face when everyone found it missing. They would probably blame the presence of some unknown, uptight prude in the court who had an objection to nudity for the vandalism (Thorin could sympathise) and, when the culprit couldn't be found, that would be that. He would then get the law books rewritten on the matter of pornography and use this to collect in all those private paintings and destroy those too. He knew there would always be some available on the black market, but, there you go: he could only do his best to protect his reputation.

He stood beneath the painting and studied it: he supposed that it did, actually, look quite fine and it wouldn't have bothered him if it had been of someone else. But, since it was of him… And he set up the step-ladders and climbed them with determination.

Unfortunately, the steps were wobbly, the painting was more than heavy and it really was a two-dwarf job. And, after a five minute struggle, the ladder tipped over, taking Thorin and the painting with it. He really did receive a nasty bang as his head hit the floor and he was unconscious by the time that the guard came running.

.o00o.

At about the same time, Thranduil appeared on the escarpment above Erebor. He had come home from his hunting trip the previous afternoon, only to find that Thorin was gone. The elf had marched around the room for a bit, cursing his partner for taking such petty umbrage at something as innocent as a hunting trip (but actually feeling a bit guilty about it) before noticing the note from Legolas propped up on the mantelpiece.

 _Ada_ , it said, _Thorin has asked me to pass on to you that he has discovered that copies of his portrait are being passed around Mirkwood. He is feeling very embarrassed, especially after all the stares he is getting, and has felt obliged to return home. He trusts that you will understand._

Oh dear, thought the elven king, he had been hoping that Thorin wouldn't find out. He would ride after him and reassure him that something would be done, otherwise he could see the dwarf refusing to return to Mirkwood again. He had ridden through the night and, now that the moon was high, he could see Erebor spread out below him.

Thranduil sighed. If only Thorin wasn't such a prude. If the copies had been done of the elven king's portrait, then, personally, he would have been flattered and amused – even if he had known that these copies were being used as a naughty stimulus – especially then! And he had to smile.

But, Thorin was a different kettle of fish. He was such an innocent, so naïve sexually – and that was partly why the elf loved him. It had been such good fun opening up his sensuous side and teaching him all sorts of dirty behaviour. The dwarf had resisted him all the way, but that had made Thranduil's bedroom triumphs even more satisfying. It was wonderful how unaware the dwarf was of his animal attraction and the elven king was confident that half his court would queue for a good fuck with him – those miniature portraits somehow proved it. And, knowing how desirable his partner was just made Thorin even more desirable to him – because the dwarf was all his. But, just now and again, Thranduil wished that Thorin's tastes were as rampant and as sophisticated and as filthy as his own.

.o00o.

Meanwhile, back in Thorin's bedroom, Oin was examining his still unconscious king carefully, whilst Brangwyn, who had been hastily summoned, was sitting by the side of the bed in her dressing-gown holding Thorin's limp hand.

"I'm pretty confident he'll be fine once he comes round," Oin finally concluded. "We dwarves are made of stone. But, I reckon he'll sleep through the rest of the night."

"I'll stay with him," said Brangwyn anxiously. "I wouldn't want him to be confused if he wakes up on his own in the dark."

Oin nodded his agreement, packed up his medical bag and was gone. Brangwyn lay her head on her arms as she tried to rest on the mattress, expecting an uncomfortable night, but it was only half an hour before, with a groan, the dwarven king began to surface. She stroked his hair gently. "It's all right: I'm here," she said softly. "You've had a bit of an accident – you banged your head."

Thorin looked about him through half-closed lids. His bedroom certainly looked beautiful in the soft glow of the lamps: the marble, the tapestries, the elegant furniture.

"Nice room," he said. "Where am I?" And the dwarf woman's heart gave a little, anxious lurch. "And, who are you?" he continued. She felt another lurch. "And who am I?" Too much.

"You're Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain," she responded. "This is your bedroom in Erebor and I am a good friend."

"Only a friend?" he answered with a disappointed sigh. "And there was me hoping that you were a bed partner."

"Nearly," she said with a giggle. "But, I turned you down and married your adopted son instead. You _are_ married, though."

"And is my wife as beautiful as you?" he asked courteously.

Oh dear, thought Brangwyn. How did she deal with this one? But, he seemed very calm, so far, about his amnesia. Hopefully it would pass soon. Now, however, she had to grapple with the question of his marriage.

"Umm, you have a husband," she answered, rather apprehensively.

"Really? Well, is _he_ as beautiful as you?" One step in the right direction, she thought, but now for the biggy.

"Yes, he is very, very beautiful," she said cautiously. "And here he is in this painting." With that, she carried a lamp over to the dark corner at the end of Thorin's bed where Thranduil's portrait was hanging.

There was total silence for a moment, then: "An elf! An elf!" he spluttered angrily. "Was it an arranged marriage and was I the sacrificial victim?!"

"No, no! Nothing like that! You both love each other very much and it was a marriage of choice." And, leaving the lamp upon a chest, she hurried back across the room and took Thorin's hand in a comforting grasp.

"Well, if he loves me so much, where is he?" the dwarf snarled.

"He has duties, just like you. He is Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, and you have to spend many sad hours apart."

"This relationship is disgusting – obscene," Thorin spat. "What can have possessed me? There must have been a really demanding political reason for this union."

"No, no," wailed Brangwyn in distress. "You married for love and for no other reason. Just look at him," she said, gesturing at the portrait. "See how very lovely he is and how he is staring out of the painting with love in his eyes for you!"

Thorin stared back at the painting for a moment and then growled: "You call that love?! I can see only lust. Is that what this is about? The elven king developed some strange, perverted desire to have a dwarf in his bed? And was I flattered and deceived by some apparent show of affection? And did I marry him for the sake of the peace of my kingdom?"

Brangwyn was just searching for a persuasive answer when she heard the outer door open and close. An excuse to escape the room and give her time to think. "I'll just see who that is – it might be the doctor back again," she said and she took herself quickly out through the bedroom door.

She gawped when she found Thranduil standing there, removing his cloak and looking very tired. "What are you doing here?" they both said together, the elf in suspicious tones.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Thranduil," she sighed. "Thorin's had an accident."

"An accident!" he cried and he rushed to the bedroom door. But Brangwyn grasped him by the arm.

"Just stop for a moment, will you?" she said in exasperation. "He fell off some ladders trying to remove that wretched portrait in the dining-hall. He banged his head and now he has amnesia. I've just been explaining to him that he's married to the elven king and he's taken it badly. He cannot believe that a dwarf would do such a thing and is convinced it must have been a political move – or that you have some kind of perverted lust for him."

"If only our relationship _were_ perverted," said Thranduil with a self-mocking sneer. "But, I keep on suggesting it and Thorin keeps turning me down."

"This isn't a joke," snapped Brangwyn. "You'll soon find out how serious this is when you see him."

"I don't need your help," said the elf coolly, trying to disguise his very real anxieties. "Thank you for now. You can return to your own bed."

"You're a fool, Thranduil," she returned. "You're going to need all the help you can get. But, if that's what you want…." And she marched indignantly to the door where she paused for a moment.

"Woo him," she said. "None of your snotty elven aggression or you'll lose him." When Thranduil ignored her, she shook her head and made her exit.

.o00o.

Pt IV

He found Thorin sitting up in bed with a giant bruise on his forehead. His powerful arms were crossed over his massive chest and he was staring at the portrait at the end of his bed. The dwarf was thinking that, yes, the elven king was very good-looking – if you liked that sort of thing: you know, tall and skinny and beardless. The silken robe he was wearing fell away from a smooth, alabaster chest and the piercing gaze was so powerful that he felt a momentary quivering in his belly. It was definitely a lustful glance and Thorin gave himself a mental shake, feeling disgusted by his response. Was that what their relationship was all about? And he wondered what on earth he had succumbed to and what perversions had taken place in this very bed.

He looked up as the elf opened the door. "It's me, Thranduil…..your partner," said the elven king, wanting to dash across the room and take the injured dwarf in his arms.

"I guessed as much," said Thorin, his glance sliding back to the portrait. "It's a good likeness. What are you doing here?"

"You were upset about something when you left Mirkwood. I have ridden through the night to comfort you. But, now I am tired," he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt after deciding that direct action was the best way forward.

"There's a sofa in the other room," said Thorin curtly.

"And that means – what?" was the tight response, as the elf paused on the fifth button.

"It means that I sleep alone," snarled the dwarf. "I have no truck with elves, especially in my bed."

"We are married," snapped Thranduil, sitting down on the mattress to snatch off his boots angrily. "This bed is as much mine as yours." Then he pulled the shirt over his head, yanked off his breeches and climbed beneath the coverlet. In the gloom, Thorin only had the merest glimpse of ivory skin – and a glimpse was all he wanted.

"I don't know what you're expecting of me," growled the dwarf and the elf nearly laughed. His partner might have amnesia but he was definitely still his Thorin. There he lay on his back with the sheet primly drawn up to his chin, the very picture of an uptight virgin. Thranduil wanted to take him in his arms and kiss him all over his beautiful body.

"I expect you to be pleased that I'm in your bed and I expect you to be hoping for a bit of intimacy – I reckon that should help with your amnesia." And he rolled over on top of the dwarven king and began working his stiff cock against Thorin's crotch.

The dwarf yelped and tried to shake him off but Thranduil held him firmly down by the wrists and with his grinding hips.

"Get off," snarled Thorin. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm enjoying my marital rights," whispered the elf huskily into his ear, "and trying to remind you what our relationship is all about."

Thorin felt the silken skin against his own and wondered that Thranduil was not repulsed by his body hair. The erect cock digging into his belly was beginning to take effect and he was shocked when his own began to harden too.

It seemed that nothing was going to stop Thranduil now. The excuse he was making was that, if they had a good fuck, Thorin would come to his senses and all would be well – or that's what he was telling himself anyway. The truth was that, once he had touched the dwarf, then his senses just exploded and he lost control. He was bending one of Thorin's thighs backwards and was beginning to penetrate him: this should do the trick was all he could think. Thorin had stopped struggling – which had to be a good sign – and Thranduil pushed in hard and began to thrust with a regular rhythm.

Thorin was disgusted and yet – not. It somehow felt right – and yet so wrong. He resisted the pleasurable sensation that clenched his groin and made him want to thrust back in recognition of an act that had echoes of something that he had done many times before. Instead, he thought about the aggression behind the act and it upset him. He wrenched his face free from an insistent kiss and panted: "She said that you loved me."

The urge to keep on thrusting melted away. Instead, Thranduil collapsed on that broad chest and buried his face in the powerful neck. "And I do love you, Thorin. Oh, how I love you," he murmured, his voice catching in his throat. "You are my beautiful dwarven king whom I love above all others. You are my One. Return to me, my love. I cannot bear it that you have gone to a place where I cannot reach you." And Thorin could feel the wetness of tears upon his skin.

The elven king sounded so heartbroken that the dwarf reached out tentatively and folded him to his breast. "Let's go to sleep," he sighed. "Things might look better in the morning." The elf relaxed into the protective circle of those great, muscular arms and, clinging to each other, they both finally fell asleep.

.o00o.

The dawn came and Thorin opened one eye. Oww, that hurt! Why was that? On the other hand, Thranduil was sprawled across his body and that felt very nice indeed. He wasn't normally a morning person but he gave a wriggle beneath the delightful weight and found that his prick had risen to the occasion. He gripped the elf's slim buttocks and rolled his body beneath him. As his partner surfaced sleepily, Thorin slowly pushed his way inside him.

"Mmm," murmured the elven king, not quite awake. But, then his eyes sprang open. "Thorin?" he exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm more than all right," grunted the dwarf, burrowing into the elf. "My head hurts, though." Then: "Why does my head hurt, Thranduil?" And he paused, a look of confusion passing over his face.

"You fell off some step-ladders and banged it," replied the elf, hoping against hope.

"Oh, yes," said Thorin cheerfully, returning to his enthusiastic thrusting, "I was trying to take down that stupid portrait while no-one was looking. Serves me right, I suppose."

 _Thank, Eru! Oh, thank, Eru!_ thought Thranduil with relief. _And I promise I shall never complain about him being prim and proper ever again. Just so long as he loves me, he can be anything he wishes._

.o00o.

An hour later, they lay grinning at each other on the pillow, still in each other's arms. Thranduil tutted at the dwarven king.

"Well, if I can walk downstairs for breakfast, I shall be very surprised. I think I deserve breakfast in bed for what you've just put me through."

Thorin kissed the end of his nose. "Anything for you, my love – although I'm sure my people will think you very hard-hearted for sending down your poor, injured partner for a breakfast tray. But, I'm glad I don't have to stare at my naked body hanging on the wall – at least not for the moment. I wonder how long they'll take to repair and reinstate it?" he added with a sigh.

"What?" asked Thranduil, pushing himself up on his elbow. "What was that? What naked body?"

"Oh, I forgot. You don't know, do you? Why do you think I was so keen to get my portrait down from the wall? Sebastian passed through and painted out the clothes on the old one, leaving me stark naked. He made a lot of money from his miniatures – and especially from his Sebastian Special."

"I don't think I want to know about the Sebastian Special," said Thranduil with a grimace. "But," he added with a salacious smile, "I know how to keep that naked portrait off the dining-room wall. I'll take the damaged one and Erebor can have my original. Fair exchange and at least my original is clothed."

A short time later, Thorin trotted down to the workshop where they were effecting a repair of the painting and arranged the transfer. Then he went on to the dining-hall and filled a breakfast tray. As he was leaving, he saw Dwalin sitting on his own and had a sudden thought. He approached his old friend furtively and hissed out of the side of his mouth: "Pssst! Any chance of you tracking down a Sebastian Special – as a present for Thranduil?"

Dwalin sighed inwardly: he had only just managed to find one for himself at an extortionate price on the black market. But, duty needs must come before pleasure. "As a matter of fact," he said…

Thorin went back to his apartment smiling with glee. That Special, together with the adulterated larger painting, were bound to be a turn-on for the elven king – which only went to prove that even very annoying clouds could have a silver lining – he was very relieved to say!

.o00o.

 **Well, at least there was a compromise over that painting in the dining-hall, LOL. Hands up! Who would like a picture of a naked Thorin?**

 **Just a 'hello' to those of you who read my Thorinduil stories regularly. In case you missed them, my previous stories about how these paintings got painted are:**

 _ **The Kings – Servant and Master**_

 _ **The Kings and the Parting**_

 **Hope to see you all again the next time around. Thanks for reading.**


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